“Get thefuckout of my room,” she seethes before I can even register the look of sheer fury twisting her features.
Her icy eyes peer up at me like I’m the biggest piece of shit to ever land in her bed.
I might take the title now.
Nonetheless, she should be thrilled.
“You good now?” I profess roughly, refusing to run my palm down the sting. “The more you lay up in here like a sob story, the more Torin and Cairo are going to bug the fuck out of me.”
“We wouldn’t want to do that, would we? God forbid anything get in your way of your cocaine addiction.”
Ouch.
And touché.
I smirk at her anyway. “Definitely that. Can I report back that you’ll be leaving this room in the next century?”
“Go ahead,” she deadpans, and I can feel the tension locked up in her frame. The stubborn way she shuts down.
She’s not withdrawing from the room any time soon, and we both know it.
I could tell her we have De Leon in our grasp, but Cairo warned me not to. She’ll opt out of grieving or whatever it is she’s doing and go right into kill mode.
I can understandwhyhe’s a bit terrified of that. I was just informed, as of late, that she shot the blonde friend of hers with zero remorse, allegedly.
I’m having a hard time picturing that.
But then I had a hard time imagining Ozzy would come out of the dark and play house with my—or what was—future wifey.
I know women.
And I know she needs comfort right now.
I just don’t believe I’m the best person for this shit right now.
“What do you need, McQueen? A few days? A pizza?”
“Peace.”
“Mhm.” I haven’t comprehended that notion in a long time. I’ve been haunted by her since the day she told me to practically go fuck myself and chose Ramsey.
Then Ozzy.
This is a fucking joke.
“Why are you here?” she asks me then, seizing my attention back to the present. Her gaze is filled with regret and something else I can’t put my finger on.
“Cairo sent me.”
“You could’ve said no.”
“Do you know how exhausting it is to argue with that asshole?” I lift my shoulders. “Besides, it got me out of my prison sentence.”
Her brows clip together, but she doesn’t pry.
She doesn’t fucking care.
“I’ll let them know you’re processing,” I convey evenly. “That should buy you some time.”
